


Praise

by Messier_47



Category: Bleach
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Smut, google 'how to tag', i wanna do a podfic for this, lotsa pretty words, ya'll betta not read this in church
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 00:04:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16397618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Messier_47/pseuds/Messier_47
Summary: Grimmjow attends the midnight church [*wink, wink*]





	Praise

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I need ya’ll to read this like you’re in a Black Baptist church.

_ Grimmjow never believed in a god. _

 

He finds paradise in the back of  _ His _ throat, tastes himself there along with  _ Him _ , of blood and cum and something uniquely  _ Ichigo _ . Their tongues dance to a hymn far too low, far too slow this might not be a kiss at all but desire to get closer, deeper than how they already are. To meld, to mend, to join together, this is an attempt to create something of a miracle.

 

_ He believes in the ringing resonance of sword meeting sword, the balancing scales of life and death. _

 

Nails scratch down his back and he heaves, relishing the burn of welts and dribbles of wetness caught in the duvets of muscle. He moans before going back to ravishing, giving, offering up a tithe of sweat and blood. That which is not only accepted but greedily taken if how hard the  nails digging in his back fat were a sign. His hands upon  _ His _ waist, digging into the generosity of hips, fresh fingerprint bruises marking the skin red.

 

_ He believes in meat, food between his teeth, the animal smell in his nose which meant that he would survive another day. _

 

Mouth full of sweet throat, teeth close to the balance of life and death but not today, no. It’s only just to taste without eating, to hold but not have, make barely make claim to a god who demands he only wholly worship  _ Him _ . They are burning together, their hearts racing towards the gates of heaven. It is a purge through lust, through passion, through the heady need of want that faults Grimmjow a sinner.

 

He would confess his every sin so he may be baptized in the name of  _ Him _ . He would whisper every dirty detail of his lust for  _ Him _ to moan. May he taste honey never ending, that He still finds favor in  _ His _ worshiper.

 

_ He believes death being an end of existence. Fuck those who hope for rebirth. If he were to die, he would awaken to not remember this. _

 

He moans into the crook of  _ His _ neck, thrusts harder. The sound of banging headboards a choir to their depravity. He grows mad at the feeling of body underneath, above, inside. The nakedness of them, the slapping sound of meshing skin, drenched in sweat, thighs and hips, the heat consuming and oh does he want. This is the only god Grimmjow would ever serve, wrapped in endless miles of sun kissed skin and battle scars.

 

_ Grimmjow never believed in gods. _

 

_ Until this. _

 

This right here is his god. In his arms, lungs gasping for air, heart fluttering underneath the cage of ribs, long legs squeezing tight, the vice around him even tighter. He reaches up to pull back orange damp locks, his god lifting  _ His _ head for worship he is so eager to preform. The arms around his shoulders draw him tight, pressing swollen lips upon his and whispering words for only Grimmjow to hear.

 

_ ‘Harder,’ _ saith the Lord and he thrusts to bruise.

 

_ ‘Faster,’ _ saith the Lord and their bodies cried out, the pleasure building until the live animal inside them howled in their glory.

 

_ ‘Come on Grimm, fuck me,’  _ saith the Lord and he does as his god commandeth of him, the only order he would ever obey.

 

Here is a sanctuary of holy ground, the pews be the bedposts, him filled with rapture that he may worship his god with his whole mind, body, and soul.

 

What is their history beyond that of,  _ ‘More-’ _ ? What is their distinctions after,  _ ‘Give it to me-’ _ ? What is their roles in the universe when his god saith,  _ ‘Grimmjow, plea-’ _ ?

 

Nothing. Nothing but the here and now and this. The gospel of skin, the promise of bitten nipples and suckling earlobes, of teeth, tongue and nails, bucking hips and that still tight grip around his dick, slick with lube and precum.  Grimmjow is almost pitiful, moaning and groaning like a zealous whore but there is no shame.

 

He worships a god who fills  _ His _ hands with his face, just to lay kisses upon his brow, eyes, lips, and mask. He groans, pulls  _ Him _ closer against his chest, breastbone to breastbone, the thunder of their hearts in sync with one another.

 

_ His _ arms cling to his back, his god demanding their wholeness, the cumming of together they both so desperately need. The sweet grip of slick velvet inside that tempt Grimmjow to abandon before his god until there’s nothing left. Let his god feast on his body, as the gods of old have done. That  _ He _ may take whatever heart he had, to truly become hollow.

 

His mouth was filled and  _ His _ mouth was filled: both with tongue and teeth and sweat and blood, until there was something he had to say. He pulls away with a,  _ “Oh my fucking god.” _

 

This be his testimony of how long his heart has longed, filled with yearning to worship his god, to cry out  _ His  _ name in the belly of the bedroom and see here that his god answers prayers. Oh how he lusted after Him, how he wanted those arms wrapped around his shoulders, those nails thick in his back. How long has he wanted this for Ichigo to look at him with those burning embers, to call his name?

 

And now he has it. Everything he could ever want and still he pleads for more.

 

There’s a rising of sense of desperation, their blood pumping faster, the jerks of his hips calling Grimmjow to greatness. He bites down on the meaty tendon between shoulder and neck, blood staining his teeth and he groans at the sweet taste of his god.

 

_ He believes in a god who conquered the many worlds and squandered it all for him. _

 

He  _ has many believers but  _ He _ chose Grimmjow as  _ His _ only worshipper. To taste, to touch, to fuck divinity. And if that isn’t enough not to thank the Lord for his blessings- _

 

_ He believes in a god who allows him this. _

 

This-

 

This-

 

This-

 

_ Praise. _

**Author's Note:**

> If you were kind and merciful, you would give this poor begging author a comment.


End file.
